Gotcha!
by TheFABFive2015
Summary: TAG 2015. A tag to Falling Skies. Oh yes, Virgil, there *will* be payback!


Well, wow! What a first episode - every single character involved, and an absolute belter of a storyline!

This little tag, though, will just feature my favourite Tracy Team. Yes, it just had to be, didn't it? Virgil and Gordon. Round two.

Ding! Ding!

* * *

Gotcha!

Safe and secure in his lair, the mind of an evil genius plotted. Planned. Plumbed its deepest depths to find the evilness that it demanded.

Itching powder? Nah, too obvious. _And_ old. He'd used that little trick so many times, he'd had to make up his own fresh supplies. Ditto for snakes in beds, toothpaste in boots, spiders in showers, and pretty much every other prank that he'd pulled on his targeted victim.

So that also ruled out glitter-bombs, pink-painting his 'bird, swapping temperature controls in his bathroom, and sewing up the sleeves on all his shirts.

Whoopee cushions under his seat in Two, replacing his favourite hair gel with Grandma's gravy, and filling his dresser drawers with bright green jello.

Crossing out this latest of his thwarted ideas, Gordon frowned. Hmm. Maybe he should have paced himself a bit better these last few months. Spread his evil genius out a bit longer. Or at least kept a bit back in reserve. Because right here and now, when he needed it most, it was providing him with absolutely - nothing.

Zip. Nada. As his outraged reputation screamed out for vengeance, its deadliest weapon was coming up with diddly squat.

 _Damn it_!

Of course, he could always draft Alan in for some extra help. Unleashing the full force of the Terrible Twins was enough to make any victim run for cover. If they timed it right, and kept it secret for long enough - yes, that even counted Sasquatch. But... no.

Again, just too damn obvious. That's exactly what Virgil would be _expecting_ him to do, and if that were the case... well, chances were the little pipsqueak had already been turned to the Dark Side. Head-locked, taped into the Interrogational Chair, and tickled into 'fessing up.

Yeah, that was the problem with kids today. No strength, no staying power. No sense of loyalty. Against just eight tickling fingers, they'd fold like one of Grandma's soufflés.

Glaring at his traitorously rumbling stomach, Gordon poked it back into silent order. Then again, maybe he _should_ go feed it. Give his poor, running on empty brain something to munch on. Nourish the beast, because... well, right now, it was coming up with a whole lot of nuthin'.

Nothing.

 _Nothing_.

Above his head, a little lamp sprung into life. The kind he'd seen in all those cartoons he'd watched through his childhood. And just to help it along, a whopping great neon sign spread out above it. Spelled out one single, glorious word, while two little red devils bounced gleefully up and down on his shoulders.

 **"GOTCHA!"**

'Gotcha' indeed. Not exactly the most creative idea he'd ever had. In fact, until now, Gordon didn't think he'd ever even thought of it. Through all his years of prankery, this most obvious prank of the lot had never really occurred to him. But for this occasion, to pay his brother back for that 'highly unusual' shower malfunction... yes, it was just about _perfect_!

Eyes gleamed. Grin grew to truly diabolical proportions - neatly matching the ones that spread over two other faces. Three heads, one real, two from the brilliance of his own imagination, all nodded in agreement.

Virgil Grissom Tracy was doomed.

Better still, he knew it too. He was _expecting_ it. Yes, his big bear of a brother would already be bracing himself for the evilness to come. He'd spend the next few days (weeks if his torturer could manage it) trying to thwart the revenge he knew was coming.

Each morning, he'd wake up, and go into full Commando mode. Peer under his bed, and use his old baseball bat to probe it for booby traps. Use his favourite protector to swipe around his bathroom. Yes, many a bucket of water had fallen foul of a prematurely tripped wire.

' _Spoilsport_.'

That little bat had also whacked the living daylights out of scarily life-like arachnids. Had its end covered with exploding gloop, and soft cheese, and shaving foam. Yes, through all those years of loyal and selfless service, Mr Whackie had saved his master from no end of dastardly mischief.

Well, it wouldn't save him now.

 _Nothing_ could save him now. In fact 'nothing' was about to turn his world into a living hell.

Reminded again of his own, evil brilliance, Gordon bounced off his bed, and pretty much did the same out of his room, right along the hallways outside it.

Operation Sasquatch was officially 'go.'

Still _mostly_ oblivious to pure evil that was heading his way, Virgil watched his brother amble towards his piano, and sat instantly straighter on his stool. Just as Gordon's had done before, his imagination flashed up a familiar warning above his head.

 **"GORDON-IN-THE-ROOM! WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!"**

In his eyes, of course, the pockets of those tatty old jeans hid any number of fiendish surprises. Why else would his brother's hands be jammed so deeply into them, and - _what the hell_?!

"Hey, Virg!"

And - that was it. A friendly smile, an inexplicably casual greeting, and - gone. Straight past him, and downstairs to the kitchen.

As he disappeared from view, Virgil frowned. Hmm. Just 'normal Gordon.' Or as close to normal as the little Squidlett would ever get. Out to the pool for his morning swim, no doubt, and... oooookay, note to self.

'Before I do the same, check perimeter. _All_ around. _Really_ carefully.'

Still frowning, Virgil shrugged, then turned back to his latest composition. Okay, first encounter with the enemy, and he'd come through it unscathed. So far, so good. Now, if he could just avoid the tiny terror for, oh, the next week or so, he'd be home and dry.

Watching him, unseen, from the top of the stairs, Gordon grinned. Yes, that was all he was going to do for today. Paced to perfection, the real fun was still to come.

Stage Two came into play the next morning. Breakfast in the Tracy household was rarely a quiet affair, but for this particular time... well, an air of wary expectancy hung over bowls of cereal, plates of bagels, and mugfuls of coffee.

Sat on their usual stools, victim and torturer eyed each other like two rivals in an old Wild West showdown. Instead of guns, though, there were just puzzled, wary frowns - and the sweetest of innocent grins.

Watching the entertainment from the safest spot possible, John smiled. Aaah yes, his beloved Five. When planned revenge was afoot, it really was the best place to be.

For his earthbound brothers, of course, there was no such sanctuary. And for one especially, the sight of his middle brother lifting up his plate and peering into his mug could only have one outcome. For Scott Tracy, that facepalming head shake now came as naturally to him as breathing.

Day Three. Stage Three. And the kind of sub tropical heat that made it impossible to stay indoors. As Virgil noted, too, kinda weird that the air conditioning should suddenly go on the fritz. That it should keep tripping each time he tried to fix it.

No, the only way he was going to keep cool today was to dress down to his swim-shorts, and join his brothers in the fresher shade by the pool.

At any other time, of course, there'd be no problem. He'd just find a free lounger, and flop gratefully onto it. Today, though? Not so much.

Still, at least Scott was there to keep some kind of order, and... uh oh. Maybe not.

Sensing the mischief that was brewing around him, he'd done what every sane and sensible big brother would do. Rising from his lounger, he then strode just as quickly for safety - tossing an often given, often ignored order over his shoulder.

"Okay, _no_ superglue, and _no_ feathers... and if there is, _you_ get to clean it up."

With that little directive out of the way, Gordon met his remaining brother's eyes with another, guileless smile. Threw just the briefest of glances towards Virgil's lounger, then returned to his reading.

Aaah yes, he'd chosen this old 'Swimmers!' magazine on purpose. It gave him something nice and big to hide behind, while he watched his hapless victim go silently nuts beside him.

 _'Aww, jeez, Virg! Just pick a damn lounger, and sit on it_!'

He did. Eventually. But not before every single one of them was flipped over, and searched inch by inch for hidden extras. By the time he'd finished, a sheen of sweat glistened over his face, and... well, no. There was no way on Earth that Gordon could resist it.

"Yeah, Virg... nice to see you... um... you know, finding out what hard work feels like!"

*thoomp*

Okay, that cost him a cushion in the face, and a glass of iced orange all down his chest, but... ooooooh, it had been worth it!

By the time Stage Four rolled around, Virgil was sufficiently freaked out for Gordon to gleefully up the ante. Passing him in the den, all he needed was a puzzled frown. An earnestly concerned question.

"Hey, Virg... you okay?"

Yup, that little scale of paranoia jumped nicely from 'wary alert' to all out 'heebie-jeebies.' Six foot two of built like a barn brother turned more and more towards a quivering wreck.

Watching it all from his couch, Scott felt a sudden, irresistible need to take One out for a quick spin around the planet. Nose-deep in his latest studies, Alan had to admit he had the same idea. With all those bits of Space Hotel floating around up there, surely John would be calling him soon to clear it all up?

Trading glances, oldest and youngest brother shared another, sanity-preserving thought. Yup, business reports and homework could wait a while. Time to get up, all nice and casual - and do them both somewhere else.

Stage Five. Laundry day. Or, in Virgil Tracy's now thoroughly wibbled world, an odd need to dismantle their washing machine, and put it all back together again, because... no, the way Gordon had smiled at him as he'd left with his own, neatly fresh bundles just _had_ to have some kind of ulterior motive.

Right?

By day six, though, even Gordon was starting to feel the pressure. Oh, sure, he'd loved every second of watching his brother crumble into a gibbering heap. But the urge to top it all off with a good old fashioned prank was becoming harder and harder to resist. Chilli powder in his toothpaste, perhaps? Or home-made stink bombs in his closet. Yeah, see if he ever left his brother in the same ripe state again.

As it turned out, though, Plan A was still working like a charm - proving the age old adage that if it wasn't broke, you didn't try to fix it. Yeah, kinda like perfectly serviceable washing machines.

 _'Jeez, Virg... paranoid much_?!"

Actually - yes. To Gordon's utter delight, that much was obvious as his hapless victim padded warily through the den. All it took was a perfectly, genuinely innocent question.

"Hey, Virg... you finished that maintenance on Two?!"

"Wh - _Whaaaaaaat_?!"

Aaaaaand - bingo. Without any kind of need for it, Virgil leapt onto his launch pad and vanished through the wall. And yes, maybe it was a trick of his chute mechanics, but Gordon was sure he'd still heard it.

"Damn it, _GOOOOOOOOOOORRRR-DOOOOOOOOOONN_!"

From the 'oh, God, not again' glare on his face, Scott had heard it too. For the same odd reason, he seemed unconvinced by the expression of utter innocence in front of him, and the protest that followed.

" _What_? Jeez, Scott, all I asked him was if he needed to check up on Two!"

With that, and a truly delicious grin, he headed on for the stairs - leaving Scott to stare blankly after him as the whistled joy of 'Busy Doing Nothing' followed him out to the pool.


End file.
